


five times felicity smoak hid her bruises

by natcsharomanova



Series: five times felicity... [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I love Felicity so much but her pain needs to be acknowledged @arrow writers, Metaphorical and physical bruises, PTSD, havenrock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:25:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natcsharomanova/pseuds/natcsharomanova
Summary: and five times Oliver found out about them anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Each section corresponds to the same season of Arrow that the number is. Hope that makes sense and makes the sequencing easier to understand.

↣ 1 ↣

Felicity walked into the foundry late, and directly into a closed off body belonging to a face possessing accusatory eyes.

Yes, she had promised Oliver and Diggle that she’d get there earlier than usual so that they could start tracking down the new Criminal Of The Week (yet another lovely lowlife whose preferred victims were young, unassuming girls; a nice reminder of why Felicity was more than okay with living the life of a borderline insomniac). And yes -- she had broken that promise when she walked into the Foundry an hour later than she usually did (making her extra late, since she was  _supposed_  to get there an hour before). 

But really; if her boys were so unable to even make a start without her then she’d have to give them a little bit of tech-training. Perhaps that would make them finally give  _ her  _ some.

(And by that she meant physical training. As in punching things and learning proper stances and not any other activities that involved grunting and sweating. Obviously.)

Which brought her back to those accusatory eyes; Oliver clearly was not very happy that she’d taken her sweet time getting from work to her  _ other _ work. But, had he given her the physical training she’d asked for  _ many a time _ , perhaps a few minutes could have been spared.

Namely, when a shady guy approached her as she made a short-cut when walking to Verdant, she wouldn’t have gotten a bruised jaw when he shoved her into a wall as she tried to run away, and she wouldn’t have then bruised her hand also as she punched him in the nose. Not that she regretted that latter bit -- if punching gross men is always that cathartic then perhaps Felicity had found a new hobby.

She was then made even later when she realised how Oliver (with a hint of Diggle on the side) would react to that tale -- the man currently staring her down with both annoyance and curiosity (because Felicity Smoak is  _ never _ late, food-related emergencies aside) would probably ban her from walking through the Glades by herself, and considering that’s where her apartment was, she couldn’t exactly handle that lifestyle change.

Not to mention she can make her own choices and protect herself and definitely does  _ not _ need a bodyguard when she’s been coping alone for several years now,  _ thanks very much _ .

So she did what any normal person would do: she went back to her apartment, covered up the bruises as best as she could with her drugstore foundation and powder (using her exceptionally useful array of lipsticks as a base -- never again would she feel guilty for literally buying every shade), also changed her shoes from heels to (panda) flats because, note to self, bruises still hurt like a  _ bitch _ even when hidden, and then continued her journey to Verdant.

Without the short-cuts.

It was, in all, an extremely long story that she had neither the energy nor the desire to explain to Oliver (who she only then took a step backwards from, having been very close to his chest after colliding with it) and Diggle, who, although less intense than his partner, would still probably have some kind of reaction that would be both embarrassing and annoying.

So she told them she was getting changed -- hopefully neither of them had payed any attention to her outfit that day at their normal-people-job -- and lost track of the time. Before Oliver could finish raising his eyebrows or Diggle could uncross his arms, she was sitting in front of her computers and getting up all the info they had on Criminal Of The Week.

It took their minds off of her bad lying skills, luckily.

_ Or _ , so she had thought. Turns out, Oliver was only distracted until him and Digg had finished their patrols for the night, and the latter had gone home. Felicity herself was just about done packing up her things when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She turned around apprehensively -- the gesture was a tell-tale sign that Oliver wanted to talk, and he had been giving her funny looks from the moment she walked into the Foundry late; no longer accusatory, just questioning. When he moved her face slightly by holding her bruised side of her jaw and she winced, she knew the jig was up for sure. Clearly her make-up artist skills were not quite as good as she had optimistically thought.

“Felicity. Talk to me.”

When she finished explaining, Oliver finally promised to teach her how to correctly throw a punch, and, though somewhat reluctantly, agreed that she didn’t need a personal escort when walking through the Glades (but did insist that she try to limit such strolls as much as possible).

Really, it could have gone a lot worse.

 

↣ 2 ↣

She’d done a lot of embarrassing things during her lifetime. Only a miniscule of them where when Oliver Queen became a towering presence in her life. But really, this particular incident was definitely up there with the repressed memories from drunken nights in college and uncontrollable word vomit that never seemed to end. 

Her timing was just  _ so  _ unfortunate. Felicity decided that if there was a God -- which she only sometimes doubted; how could she not with what she saw her friends face every night? -- she had personally offended him somehow, all omnibenevolence forgotten in exchange for making her make a fool of herself at every given opportunity.

Honestly, all she had wanted was to start her morning right: drinking the biggest cup of coffee that the cafe closest to QI could legally serve.

But then that  _ jackass _ in the ugly yellow tie, clearly in a rush to do something, had pushed her chair as he hustled past her, causing the chain reaction of Felicity spilling her ( _ warm, delicious _ ) coffee down herself, and falling from her chair to the ground in shock and pain.

And, because God or Fate or whoever hated her, she didn’t  _ just  _ fall. No, that would be too simple. Rather, as she fell, her chin slammed against the table on the way down.

Beyond grateful that she’d gotten a refill free of charge and that she hadn’t lost any teeth, Felicity only felt a dull throbbing for a while (probably numbed by the idea that  _ the very full coffee shop _ had seen her fall on her ass). She decided to focus on the coffee -- warm, delicious, deserved -- instead of her anger at the  _ jackass _ who bumped into her and didn’t even help her up or apologise.

Really, it wasn’t until she went into work and into the bathroom that she realised just how hard she had bumped her chin. The rapidly forming purple-pink bruise spanned from under her bottom lip to the point where the throat and jawbone meet (and, if it wasn’t weird to have a hickey in that particular place, it would  _ really  _ look like a hickey).

So not only did Felicity look like an idiot when she fell down -- because obviously that would be too merciful -- but she also now looked like an even bigger idiot when walking from the cafe to QI, and the entire time she rode the elevator up to Oliver’s floor with six other workers.

_ Oh God.  _ She was going to have to tell Oliver what happened.

And, of course, because she was apparently the new chosen antichrist, Felicity had  _ no foundation on her _ . Her literal only escape from further mortification and possible death was sitting in the draw of her desk -- a desk situated next to glass walls situated next to Oliver. She was the bane of the universe’s existence, apparently, and clearly today the universe was enacting its revenge.

Felicity went with what seemed like her only option (because really, her CEO could  _ not _ handle her missing a day when he had three meetings scheduled in a row); running from the bathroom to her desk with her hand covering her lower face, grabbing her foundation, and running back.

An excellent plan, definitely worthy of a brain which entered MIT aged 17 and was part of MENSA.

Honestly, the fact that she ran  _ directly into Oliver’s amazingly chiseled chest _ was enough to make her decide to become a supervillain. Slade would not be a match to Ghost Fox Goddess - someone who wreaked havoc just to fuck with the world which fucked with her.

But all thoughts of mania quickly dissipated when, after hearing the story and becoming less Extremely Concerned vigilante and more Highly Amused friend, Oliver did that thing with his face: his eyes crinkled slightly, and his mouth, although remaining closed, upturned in a way which made Felicity’s stomach somersault.

If it wasn’t for the pain that occurred when she opened her mouth wider than a small ‘o’, she would have laughed in joy that she made that happen.

 

↣ 3 ↣

If Felicity had to describe herself as a fruit, it would be a peach. And no, not because her ass was amazing (which it was, but that was besides the point) - but rather because she bruised so easily.

And if peach’s too made every seemingly innocent statement into an embarrassing innuendo which plagued her every night, then they’d practically be sisters.

When Oliver asked her why her knees were bruised - he was genuinely concerned, as if a bad guy had kicked her knees and then just left, and  _ god  _ did Felicity love that he even noticed her  _ knees _ of all things - her immediate answer was the truth: she was helping to fix the motion of the legs-part of Ray’s Atom suit, and so was kneeling all night with her tablet in one hand and a toolkit in the other.

But obviously she didn’t just say that. Because that would be too simple, right?

No, of course not. Instead she had said ‘I was working on Ray all night’ - which, in hindsight, doesn’t even make  _ sense _ \- and then walked away, effectively missing the bulge of Oliver’s eyes and a mixture of an angry and sad (smad) expression on his face.

And as always happened in these situations, Felicity ran the conversation through her mind once more, and full on yelped when she realised why Oliver had been trying to kill Diggle on the training mats since she sat down.

When she explained what she actually meant (and reminded herself to wear jeans instead the next day), her face was red - as was Diggle’s, though he was laughing too so Felicity couldn’t bring herself to care that her Freudian slip had caused him pain - and she vowed to never speak again.

She broke that vow twelve seconds later when she made yet another suggestive comment about Oliver’s sweat (she really needed to hire someone to install a zip on her lips) - but at least this time, he smirked instead of becoming a full on grumpus.

 

↣ 4 ↣

Their relationship was based off of trust. Felicity knew that. Hell, she had practically written a book about it by this point, if someone were to combine (and make) transcripts of all the reassuring and inspirational speeches she’s given over the years. And Felicity would never,  _ ever _ break Oliver’s trust.

But sometimes the truth can cause excruciating pain and hinder the trust people have been building for four years. So whilst this entire summer road trip, Felicity has been reinforcing the idea that they needed to be open with each other to grow together, Felicity didn’t tell him.

She knew it would break him, knew it would set them back at least by four months. Knew he’d refuse to sleep next to her, refuse to sleep  _ with _ her, refuse to touch her. She couldn’t handle losing him after he finally accepted her into his life, and she couldn’t handle him thinking that he was a danger to her. It would kill them. It would kill him.

These thoughts continued to go through her mind as she took off her pajama top, trying hard not to wince as the material brushed past the tender skin. She repeated it to herself over and over again as she put on a shirt she knew wouldn’t rise or be too tight. She sang it inside her head like a mantra as she sat down for breakfast with Oliver as if everything was alright, as if she wasn’t lying.

Really it was her fault. When she eventually told him, she started with that. She had to know that he knew that it was her fault. That he was  _ not  _ to blame.

Because she knew - he had told her their first (well, second; they didn’t really talk about consequences in Nanda Parbat) time together that she should never touch him when he was having a nightmare. And she never had; she had spoken to him softly, sometimes even sang, until he woke, and given him all the care he needed when he did. But she never touched him because he described what could happen, and she didn’t want him to have that burden.

But last night was different; it was the first nightmare that caused thrashes and screams in two weeks, and she had been talking, singing,  _ begging _ him for twenty minutes to  _ please, please Oliver wake up, you’re safe, I’m here, I’m never leaving, I love you _ .

He hadn’t woken up. It had gotten worse, and he had begun to hurt himself: nails gripping into his skin leaving crescent moons which matched the one in Bali’s nighttime sky outside their window, and teeth clamping down on his lip, immediately drawing blood.

She was tentative. She was careful. But it wasn’t enough. Felicity had barely pressed a hand to his face when she was being flipped over his body and onto the floor - the left side of her ribcage heavily landing on the edge of the bedframe on her way down.

It had hurt, yes, but not as much as seeing Oliver in that much pain. She hadn’t cared, really, because the noise had woken him up, and before he managed to orient himself she was standing by his side, asking him what he needed, reminding him he was never alone.

Oliver had no idea how he had woken up. Felicity decided to let it stay that way. But then he had looked at her at dinner, after a day of fearful and confused side glances, and asked her plainly what he did wrong so he could fix it before he lost her again.

Her heart broke that his first thought was that she was leaving him. So she told him the truth.

It was a telling sign of development and improvement when he didn’t immediately leave. And although he blamed himself and considered sleeping on the coach, after hours of talking (which was quickly becoming Felicity’s favourite past time) they still went to bed together, entwined together, with promises to not let the other go until the sun came back.

 

↣ 5 ↣

When five of Dharhk’s bullets pierced her skin and spine, Felicity’s soul was wounded. An occupational trauma of losing an ability she had been enjoying since birth; of regaining it only when another loss in her life caused a piece of her soul to stay in a room she walked away from.

When Billy Malone told her he loved her and she didn’t say it back -  _ couldn’t  _ say it back - she felt her heart break for all the wrong reasons. It wasn’t until she never again got the chance to say those words and mean it, never knew if she would have been able to say those words and mean it, that her soul took the brunt of the pain. It was still dark purple, but darker, black spots began to appear.

When Rory left, Felicity lost the only reminder that someone personally affected could forgive her for Havenrock. Her heart was still bleeding from the aftermath, her lungs still punctured as she woke from sporadic sleep in sweats and screams, but it wasn’t until Rory left that her soul began to weep alongside her each night.

When it turned out that she wasn’t doing good with Helix, and when her actions caused her team members - her  _ family _ \- to oppose her, Felicity realised that maybe she would never be able to heal the bruises that she was covered in on the inside. That maybe she didn’t deserve to be healed.

She continued to smile in the foundry. Continued to answer emails promptly, hack into everything as fast as Barry could run, continued to make small talk and make jokes and babble and paint her nails and look at Oliver like he was the axis that her world turned on (because some things never really did change, no matter the symbolic injuries someone was hiding).

But she wasn’t happy. Not really. She was a worn out handbook that couldn’t offer much help any more - her pages were ripped, her ink was seeping, her comments were off topic, and her soul was bruised.

She was fine to retire to the top shelf of a dusty bookshelf. More than willing to get burnt in a fire like the ones she had created. But Oliver - her sweet, knowing,  _ kind _ Oliver - had never much liked the newer online FAQs to get his answers. No, Oliver liked going to the source.

He held her in his hands, accepting her rips and tears and spills and  _ bruises _ . Really, Felicity should have known that she couldn’t have hidden them from him. Not after all the times she had pointed at his and kissed them soothingly.

Oliver didn’t kiss hers away - they weren’t at that point yet, and maybe it wouldn’t have been enough. But he didn’t ignore them, wasn’t disgusted by them, wanted to help  _ her _ .

When he smiled at her, Felicity finally understood what he meant when he called her his light. And if he could continue to take her out of the dark corner of the bookshelf and under a soft glow of a reading lamp, that would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading !! I really enjoyed writing 'five times felicity smoak was in danger', mostly due to the lovely comments I received on it, and since I've been going through the biggest Felicity Smoak withdrawal of my life, I've decided to make this 'five times felicity' one shot things into a series !! 
> 
> Since this one and the last have been pretty angst-filled (I can't lie, I love the angst) if you guys want something fluffier or funnier in the future, please let me know !!
> 
> Hope that you enjoyed this, and comment are, as always, much appreciated.
> 
> find me on tumblr @nyssaalgayul :)


End file.
